Doing what feels comfortable

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Four and a half inch squares basted for some stitch-in-the-ditch fun!

Gripped in the throes of allergies, I am opting out of pottering in the garden. Instead I'm formatting my WIP for release, although referring to it as the work-in-progress seems a little lame. Right now I'm kinda middling, so forgive me for any lapses in grammar or judgement.

But back to what's going on; so I'm formatting, which means making a title page, inserting page breaks between chapters, writing up Liner Notes which end all my books, then making sure all the t's are crossed and i's dotted. I am also working on a quilt that has been hogging the design wall for MONTHS. That it has been there that long testifies to how the garden as well as the writing usurps my attention. But right now being outside makes me sneezy as all get-out and I'm not sleeping great and.... And it's time for something different.

This quilt isn't anything monumental; it's going to be for the car, which means it doesn't require fancy stitching or cozy backing or adorable binding. It's for function, not decoration, and honestly until yesterday, when I spent much of the afternoon sewing the back, I wasn't sure what it was meant for. Then I considered it would be great to have in a vehicle for any kind of emergency requiring a comforter. Right now I need some relief, maybe it was a subconscious decision. I love writing and my garden, but man they take a lot out of me. Sewing, especially by machine, is less intensive. Sewing by hand is nice too, but my fingers are achy because I'm not as young as I used to be, ahem. So I've been happily seated at my single stitch Brother PQ1500SL, letting it do the heavy lifting. And after I complete this post, I'll cut some binding strips and again allow my machine to do its thing.

There is something to be said for taking a step (or several) back from one's usual routine, especially as aging occurs; I am NOT the woman I used to be. Writing has lessened in the word count, I can't weed for hours at a time, nor can I pull a quilt off in a week. But I can sew four sixteen-square rows in a morning, then a day later attach them to four previously sewn rows, then sew all that to eight rows that I completed in early March. Plus making the back for a sixty-four by sixty-four inch square quilt top, even if said quilt top is going to live in a car. Lately a few issues have been weighing heavily upon me, stirring the inevitable query of: What's the friggin' point? Unpleasant current events collide with personal worries, making me question why publish a novel, why weed the tomatoes, why won't the Long Island Cheese pumpkin seeds sprout huh? Why bother sewing together squares of fabric that aren't my faves but have been in my stash for far too long? Why, why, why.... Oi! But sometimes in life there are no good answers other than Just Because or Why Not? Why shouldn't I publish my story? I spent a good hour online this morning trying to find something similar just to reference the tags associated with it. Nothing appeared at all like my book, which perhaps is good, means my story is quite original, ha ha. I had to remind myself I don't write the typical genres, what makes independent publishing so valuable. Maybe coming up with tags is more tricky, but que sera sera....

Whatever will be definitely isn't for me to argue with, just to do where my heart leads in the best manner my fifty-six-year-old self can manage. Often I don't feel my age, so perhaps when I do that makes it more unwieldy. I've never thought about it like that, hmmm. Yes, that's my answer to this hopefully short-lived funk. Usually I feel spritely for my years, but no one can escape the relative ravages of time. And on that realization, I'm off to sew a quilt binding. Because it's certainly not going to make itself.

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